


Thunder Skies

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Series: Taming Dragons [15]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aymeric is such a good dad, Aymeric's pov mostly, G'raha deserves to get his wish and travel. and also needs a nap, M/M, Miquo'te warrior of light, Vidofnir has a sense of humour, and lots of patience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail
Summary: Don't worry about the sortof cliffhanger, I'm working on the next one already lol.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: Taming Dragons [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733218
Kudos: 19





	Thunder Skies

Blue eyes glancing upward at the clear sky, Aymeric couldn’t help but be reminded of something his mother had told him when he was younger. He had been perhaps 5 or 6 years of age, on one of the rare occasions when he hadn’t been simply handed off to the stewards after that lovely dark-haired woman had fulfilled her expected role of casting her eyes over him to appraise him before stiffly patting his curls and sweeping out of the room in a flurry of skirts. He’d been much older when he had come to realize that a greater number of children had parents who hugged them, kissed their foreheads goodnight, told them stories, and all number of things on a daily basis rather than the scant handful of times he had experienced. Things that he had always attributed to those stewards and servants who raised him. But on this most rare of occasions, he had been watching the fluffy white clouds through the bay window in his nursery when a single peal of thunder had rumbled through the heavens. He’d thought it a dragon’s roar at first, hiding his face beneath the blanket on the window seat until she had seated herself beside him and pulled the thick wool from his face. Staring out at the blue sky with a soft wry smile before she had turned her blue gaze to his own. “It’s only thunder, Aymeric.” It had seemed so out of character for her that he had forgotten to use proper decorum and manners and had blurted out that it couldn’t be so because the sun was shining and there was no storm. But instead of finding himself scolded for his outburst, she had only nodded. “That is correct. Shall I tell you a secret, Aymeric? When you hear the thunder yet the sky is clear, it is an omen of good fortune.”

Had he been older, and had those words come from anyone else, he likely would have dismissed them as foolish whimsy and discarded them. But he was young enough and desperate enough for the scraps of attention to stare at her wide-eyed as she ruffled his hair in an uncharacteristically maternal gesture. Time had taught him many things, not the least of which what it meant when he heard himself referred to as ‘bastard’, and that it was such things that forced a wedge of propriety between himself and his mother. A younger Aymeric had resented her distance, at once angry and crestfallen that she could not or would not give him the warmth that he saw other children receive. The man he had grown into understood and accepted that much of her choices had likely not _been_ choices to begin with. But the memory of that quiet afternoon spent together had stayed with him for years and when he’d heard the ominous rumble from the heavens this morning it had called back to the memory.

Good fortune, he mused to himself as he made his way along the roadway towards the small settlement that had cropped up not far from Anyx Trine. Began when he had approached Vidofnir with a proposition to begin rebuilding the long-shattered bond between their two peoples with a cadre of healers and scholars in tow. Things had progressed beautifully in the 9 months or so since that first conversation, and what had begun as a small camp of durable tents had grown and transformed itself into a collection of small stone and wood buildings. In the center was what he likened to a library or herbarium of sorts. It was the largest of the stone buildings, with a roof that had been constructed of dragon scales graciously donated by Vidofnir and her brood in gratitude for the number of small remedies and comforts the scholars and healers had been able to develop. Though the dragons in general preferred to allow time to heal their wounds, it had not taken long for the Ishgardians to ingratiate themselves into their number as they provided poultices for the ease of pain, salves to soothe itchy dry scales, relief for toothaches and split claws. But it was the hatchling dragons who had truly taken to their new neighbors, and it had become commonplace to find them perched atop the gables of the roofs or chasing each other through the packed dirt roads. Often enough with an Ishgardian child or two in tow. It was a sight that warmed his heart and gave him hope for a future where more than merely this small collection of their people could know this peace.

Most of the other buildings provided small living spaces for those among the scholars and healers who had chosen to settle here rather than travel to and from Ishgard, and as the homes sprung up so had other necessities. A small market square, more a trading and bartering center than a true shopping strip. A blacksmith and several artisan shops, providing the materials that were needed for everyday life. The camp had become a settlement, and it was owed as much to the dragons as to his own people. At his last visit it had become clear that what had begun as a transient camp would soon be permanent enough to need a name and he had graciously given the honour of choosing one to Vidofnir. She had named the place Bregne, and when he had inquired as to what the word meant in his own tongue, she had glanced towards the solitary figure of his husband practicing with his lance at the far edge of the settlement before giving her answer.

Fern.

The realization that she had chosen such a name to quietly honour the hometown that Estinien had lost humbled him and he had bowed low to her in gratitude before swearing softly that together they would see to it that a new peace sprung from the ashes of the past. If Estinien knew what his often-home was named for, he never said a word. And while he kept to himself, preferring the small camp he maintained near the waterfall, it was not uncommon at all to find his tall figure a shadow haunting the settlement. Recognizable not only by his armour and his lance… but by the cluster of hatchling dragons that constantly dogged his steps, flitting about him and bombarding him with questions and demands for his attention.

It was, quite simply, the most adorable thing that Aymeric thought he had ever seen when he happened upon his husband eating lunch with a dragonet perched on each shoulder and one on top of his head. Three more clustered at his feet as he silently broke apart one of his sandwiches to give each ‘child’ a piece of it before continuing his meal. And despite the gruff arguments to the contrary, that he was merely ‘humouring them’ for ‘the sake of peace’, Aymeric didn’t believe for one moment that ‘Big Brother Estinien’ wasn’t as fond of his adoptive brood as they had become of him. In fact, Estinien was a large part of the reason why he was en route to Bregne today, as he had been for the last week or so. With the settlement thriving and the peace and cooperation between dragon and man blossoming, he had begun discussing the next steps with Vidofnir. 

_”Dragons and man once not only lived in peace together...they fought side by side as well. Partners and allies both on and off the battlefield.”_ He had spoken those same words to Vidofnir more than once, his surety of this bolstered by what Estinien had told him when Aymeric had finally convinced him to share the story of where his new armour had come from. Even the great wyrm Hreasvelgr had confirmed it; that the dragoons of Ishgard had once wielded their lances from atop the backs of dragons who had fought beside them. The proof of it was in Iceheart… Estinien’s dragon-blessed mail. And while the mortal aspect of creating such beautiful things was perhaps lost, he had no doubt that the dragons remembered their part. The seeds had been planted by the scholars and healers and the dragonets who lived in peace in Bregne. Now it could be nurtured and perhaps that ages old partnership could be reborn.

Vidofnir had not shared his enthusiasm, her words tinged with doubt that the dragoons of Ishgard and the elder dragons of Anyx Trine could put aside their past hatred and move beyond it. It was one thing to ask scholars and healers, men and women of peace by nature and trade, to set aside their prejudices and grow towards a lasting peace. It was quite another to expect warriors on both sides to do the same. Warriors who had clashed lance against tooth and claw, who had rent wings and scales and flesh in what had seemed a never ending dance of hatred. Wounds of the body healed, but the scars remained. As did the scars of hatred and fear. The white dragon had only consented to his ardent plea when he had offered up his husband as an intermediary. Estinien was one of the few men respected by both man and dragon alike, in spite of how he oft viewed himself. Though Azure Dragoon no more, he had more than earned the awe and loyalty of his fellow dragoons and of Ishgard itself, and it was Aymeric’s dearest hope that it was that respect and influence that would unite them. If Estinien couldn’t convince them to set aside the past, then they were doomed to failure.

The dragons too, held his husband in incredibly high regard, and Vidofnir herself had remarked that the mere fact Hraesvelgr had gifted him the precious armour spoke volumes as to the faith her sire had in the slayer of Nidhogg. Aymeric didn’t know the whole story; Estinien had told him what he wished to share and he was content with that, but he knew that the dragoon and the dragon had shared something meaningful when Estinien on a whim chose to pay his respects and ask for forgiveness of the long departed shade of Ratatoskr. Unjustly slain by his own forefathers. That whatever had transpired between dragon and dragoon had formed a bridge of understanding and Estinien had left with the armour and a new sense of purpose.

It had been shaky ground at first, and there had been more than one instance of frayed tempers and misunderstanding, but over the last week or two the beginnings of a mutual understanding and respect had begun to grow between the dragoons and the dragons who would hopefully become their partners. He’d done his best to be careful and selective, choosing newer dragoons rather than older and more seasoned warriors. Those who were less set in their ways and those who to his knowledge did not carry deep seated scars and desires for vengeance. Likewise Vidofnir had chosen her ‘dragon brigade’ carefully from her own brood. Dragons that she explained would have been man’s equivalent of ‘late teens’, who had not known the war as intimately as their elder counterparts had done. All in the hopes that the newer generations could learn to grow beyond their elders’ mistakes.

And it was working, and thank Halone for Estinien. Who had already settled no less than 3 disputes since he had agreed to remain near Bregne as a sort of advisor and commander, and Aymeric was resolved to kiss the breath out of him when he saw him next.

He followed the faint squawk of dragonets around one of the stone buildings, expecting to find his husband entertaining some of his usual flock...and stopped in surprise at the sight. Rather than his husband’s familiar tall figure and long white hair, it was a shorter, slighter female figure playing with the dragons, laughing as her ears twitched and she flicked her furred tail back and forth for them to chase. Seated on the wooden crate beside her was another Miqo’te, white-streaked red hair drawn back into a short tail at his nape as laughing crimson eyes watched the dragonets play. Perched on his shoulders, his crystalline fingers wrapped gently but firmly around small ankles to keep her in place, was a child of roughly 3 or 4 years old. A Xaela child, if he was correct as he took note of the patches of scales and the dark horns poking through her dark curls. They reminded him a little of Estinien’s horns and he couldn't help the idle thought that with her blue eyes and black curls she resembled himself a little too. The child was obviously entranced by the dragonets, reaching out with one shy hand to pet the white neck of one that was hovering in front of her and studying her with the same innocent curiosity.

“Well, this is a surprise…”

Glancing up as he spoke, the Warrior of Light flashed him a warm smile of greeting. It had been quite awhile since he had seen her, as well as her companion. G’raha Tia, his mind supplied the man’s name as he gave a friendly and respectful nod to the man most people only knew as the Crystal Exarch. He was among the privileged few who knew the truth of things, and it warmed his heart as he watched her lean over and whisper something in G’raha’s ear with a squeeze to his hand. They looked happy together, happier than he’d seen her look in awhile, and he took a seat on another of the scattered crates as his eyes went to the child. She was indeed Xaela, and her blue eyes studied him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as she curled her fingers around G’raha’s ears. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but with the exception of a slight wince, the Exarch didn’t even flinch.

“Indeed, you have my apologies that we did not contact you first. Our intention had been to make from here for Ishgard, only we heard you were to arrive soon and elected to wait for you here.”

That made sense and he nodded before indulging his own curiosity. “A wise decision, but while I am delighted to see you both, I would ask what brings you to these parts. I hardly believe you wished merely to make a social call.” While it was true, he couldn’t help chuckling inwardly as the warrior of light rolled her eyes and immediately retorted that she hoped she didn’t need there to be a rampaging primal or falling moon in order for her to visit an old friend. Ever the same, he loved her quick wit and sense of humor and he raised his hands in mock surrender as she teasingly berated him. “Peace, you speak truth; there is never an excuse necessary for your visits.”

Though he doubted G’raha was unused to her mannerisms - they had apparently known each other since before Aymeric had even set eyes on Eorzea’s champion - the sanguine-eyed man still laughed as he gently lifted the child from his shoulders and settled her onto his lap before he began to speak. “Though she isn’t wrong...neither are you, Ser Aymeric. We do have another reason to darken your doorstep as it were. This is Yasha.” He ruffled the little girl’s thick dark curls with a gentle smile. “And we would seek your aid with regards to a matter that concerns her.”

Aymeric was hardly prepared for such a thing, but he stayed silent save a raised eyebrow as the warrior of light took over and explained. He felt a pang of sadness for the orphaned child as he listened; as best as they knew, she had been born a member of the Himaa tribe. As was common in the tribe, she had been born one of a set of twins. But her sister was stillborn, with Yasha’s umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her throat. Despite the ill omen this was believed to be, the girl’s family continued with their lives until two years later they were caught in a beast attack. Yasha was the only survivor, cared for by an elder of the tribe until the woman herself fell ill. Upon her death, it was decreed that the seemingly constant misfortune was a result of Yasha herself having escaped the death that had been her due; and further, that death would follow their tribe until they returned the child to the oblivion where she was meant to be. The three year old girl had been abandoned on the steppe and would have perished had a Mol hunter not stumbled across her. Taking the half starved child back to their village and consulting their elder, who told them the girl’s destiny lay ‘in a cold and icy land far away across the mountains’, the Mol had been at a loss as to what to do with the abandoned child.

“They contacted Lord Hien immediately.” The warrior of light explained as G’raha idly stroked Yasha’s dark curls. “And he contacted the Scions. He and Yugiri would have taken her in themselves, seen that she was well cared for, but..” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “He spent enough time living with the Mol not to discount the words of their elder, and so he asked us to bring her here. To Ishgard, where they feel her future is to be. I had hoped that you could assist in finding someone to look after her.”

Their request caught him off guard, though not for any expected reasons. There were orphaned children aplenty in Ishgard, their haunted faces one of the most regrettable casualties of the long war. Fortunately, there were also plenty of families willing to take in these children who flittered through the Brume like wraiths in their search for food and shelter. He himself had offered them bread and shelter when he was able to, though it was Francel who truly shined where the orphans were concerned. In his overseeing of the Firmament reconstruction, he had ensured not only that several structures were built to house and care for the orphans...but had gone to great lengths to see to it that fieldcraft and tradecraft leves were made available for those who were of an age to contribute to their own welfare. He’d spoken out numerous times on their behalf, and even now was endeavoring to found an institution within the New Nest that would provide for their further education. The means to find their own path, as Francel’s beloved Haurchefaunt had once done so many years ago. Not an orphan in truth or life, but still on his own in so many ways.

“I...would be glad to offer my aid, though I worry that Ishgard will not provide the welcoming home that you wish for her.” At G’raha’s cocked head, he sighed and elucidated in a soft voice. Hoping that Yasha would be too young or too distracted by the dragonet she was playing with to understand his words. “While it is true that there is ample space for another orphaned child within the Firmament...there is a reason that there are no Xaela in Ishgard. Years ago, when I was but a lad, a tribe of Xaela traveled from their home in the Steppe to the plains of Coerthas. There, they hoped to make a home for themselves.” His expression darkened as he swallowed and his voice tightened. “It is one of the many great wrongs that the peoples of Ishgard have wrought...but they were slaughtered in the name of fear and misunderstanding. There remains only one, a solitary Dark Knight who keeps the memory of his people alive. While Ishgard has taken many steps forward… I fear that she will receive a cold welcome in spite of her youth. But perhaps a solution can yet be found.”

Glancing down as one of the dragonets fumbled into the side of his leg, Aymeric chuckled softly as he watched Yasha dart over and scoop the squirming hatchling up with a determined look on her face. Scaled tail swishing as she made a vain attempt to cradle the hatchling like a kitten. The fact that the dragonet was nearly her size made it an even more comical sight and he found himself clearing his throat to gain her attention. “You like the dragons, little one? Would you like to meet a bigger dragon?”

Yasha’s blue eyes widened and she nodded silently before releasing the dragonet and reaching her arms up to him in an unmistakable desire to be picked up. He had little experience with children this young, and Aymeric pushed back a moment of panic before he carefully scooped her up into his arms. She cuddled against his chest as though she belonged there, cramming one small thumb into her mouth as she snuggled her head up beneath his chin and he couldn’t help the pang of wistfulness that grabbed at his heart. This must be some hint of what being a father would be like, and he grieved that so many such young children had suffered the loss of so simple a thing. Turning to head up the path towards Anyx Trine, he was oblivious to the look that passed between G’raha and the Warrior of Light.

“That was...unexpected.” The Exarch mused aloud as he stood and offered her his hand. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that Ser Aymeric is considering taking her in himself. He certainly seems taken with her.” Taking the offered hand, she twined her fingers through crystalline ones as she watched the tall Elezen continue up the path with the child in his arms. “Maybe he is, but I somehow doubt his husband will be as accepting of the idea. Estinien doesn’t seem the type to welcome parenthood in the same way.”

Following after, they chatted softly until they arrived at the tall spires of Anyx Trine. She was, of course, a well known and welcomed visitor to the dragons and when enough greetings had been made they found their way up to Vidofnir’s preferred roosting place. The white dragon was there, sitting perfectly still as she allowed Yasha to reach out and place one tiny hand against one of her curved horns while Aymeric held her up. It was an adorable sight and the only thing that seemed to take away from it was the dragoon leaning against the wall, his eyes never leaving the sight of his husband with the child. They must have spoken ere Aymeric had arrived, and she could guess the subject matter. Whatever had been spoken, it didn’t seem as though it had gone well, as another silent and meaningful look passed between the two and she watched Aymeric’s shoulders sag slightly as he turned back to Yasha and gave a forced smile. “I would like that too, little one, but I’m sure if you are a good girl and you listen to your elders, then Francel will allow you to come and visit Vidofnir again. He is a very nice man, and there will be other children you can play with there. And if you like, I will come and visit you also.”


End file.
